


Parallel

by edibleflowers



Series: Only God Knows Why [7]
Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristen and Justin, alone at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallel

**Author's Note:**

> Heterosexual adult situations. By the standards of this series it's actually pretty tame. Enjoy.

_Fucking, they're fucking, nothing romantic or beautiful about it. It's hard and sudden, fast and raw. Urgent, angry, he shoves into her; she cries out in pain, rakes fingernails down his back. He grunts, puts his hands on hers. Bites at her shoulder, hard enough to make her growl in reaction -- to leave marks that will stay for at least a day, probably more. Marking her. Branding her. **Mine!**_

_She screams his name like a curse when, traitorous, her body spasms around him. Release is relief, achingly welcome, feels more like his body letting go of long-held tension than the usual blackout ecstasy of a really good orgasm, but he doesn't mind; he feels limp and drained, like after a long workout or exhaustive rehearsal, good and tired. He rolls away, collapses on his back, lungs heaving in precious oxygen._

_She reaches for his hand. Connected by that tenuous grasp, they lay in silence broken only by the air conditioner turning on._

_"Sorry," he says._

_"S'okay," she says._

_"You sure?"_

_"Yeah." There is no trace of a lie in her voice._

_Sweat dries as their breathing slows and the room cools, the a/c working overtime to rid the air of humidity. Inevitably, they turn to each other; this time, for comfort, for warmth. She reaches for the bedclothes, kicked to the foot of the bed earlier, and he drapes the sheets around them with one long arm. His other cradles her close, pulling her to him. He touches her tenderly now, brushing feathersoft kisses over her forehead, temple, cheek. She shivers._

_"Wish it could be like this all the time," she murmurs, and feels rather than sees his nod of agreement._

Kristen awakes with a curse on her lips. In the first moments, the dream's imagery remains vividly clear, scuttling through her memory and making her wince at the recollection. Angry with herself, she pulls away from Chris -- who gropes after her in sleep, having clamped limpet-like to her as soon as he was out -- and yanks on a nightshirt and robe over her panties, to be alone with her thoughts in the other room.

But the main room of the suite they're sharing is already occupied. Kristen curses her bad luck. The other person in the room is Justin, who's clad solely in a pair of sweatpants and a do-rag, a cellphone held to one ear as he paces before the window. He gives her a brief nod and goes back to his conversation. Kristin scowls, plunks herself on the couch and turns on the television.

Muting the set, she flips channels until she finds something on VH-1, some episode of _Behind the Music_ showing a washed-up band from the Seventies. She turns the volume on low, stares at the television without really seeing it. She can hear, faintly, Justin's murmurs of "Please--" and "Brit--". Then he stabs at the phone with a thumb and flings it at a chair, and thumps down to the couch next to her.

"Who's that?" he asks.

"Don't know," she says. "Humble Pie, I think. Maybe Iron Butterfly."

"Looks like Stillwater."

They watch in companionable silence for a while. Justin eventually leans over and rests his head on Kristen's shoulder. She reaches up and runs an affable hand over his bandanna, scritching the curls at his nape.

"Problems with Britney?" she asks.

"I. Yeah." He sighs softly. "I'm just so tired anymore. She never tells me what she wants. We can't even get together because when we do, we just argue about what we want to do. I think she's." He stops abruptly.

Kristen slides an arm around him. Comfort she can give. She's good at that, after all these years: it's one of her star qualities.

"She called me a faggot," he mutters.

Kristen sucks in a breath. "Bitch," she says, and Justin snorts.

"Yeah. I don't know, what the hell, anyway, I guess I am. Who the fuck cares."

She smiles softly. This doesn't sound like Justin, this soft, confused, upset boy. She hugs him, feeling a squeeze of tenderness that she never thought she'd experience for him. "We do," she tells him.

"Thanks." He pulls her into a tighter embrace, and she leans into him, affectionate and warm. "Doesn't matter now anyway."

Kristen turns a little so that she can look straight at Justin. In the unforgiving overhead light, he doesn't seem anything like a pop prince or a teen heartthrob; he looks like a lonely, hurting, lost young man. She wants to do something for him, something to counteract the way his newly ex-girlfriend has made him feel. Since there's one thing she knows how to do really well, she pulls his head down to hers and kisses him. He blinks, closes his eyes, and kisses her back with a sudden profound passion.

"Kris," he says as she pulls him down on top of her, "are you..."

"Shush," she says. To emphasize her point, she pulls him by the neck, then reaches down and grasps his ass firmly in both hands. Both of Justin's eyebrows go up this time, as he braces himself on his hands, resting his knees between hers.

"Okay," he smiles, and kisses her again.

* * *

Justin isn't sure why this is happening, but he really doesn't have the strength to complain. Not when her hands slip inside his sweatpants, under the briefs, to squeeze his ass. He feels himself stiffen against her, and she chuckles as he kisses her neck. Her throat is soft, her skin is smooth, everything about her is delicious. The fact that she smells like sex and Chris only turns him on more.

Her hands are delightful on his back. She shoves his pants down, baring his ass, and he kneels up for a moment to get the baggy sweatpants off. Pushes her shirt up, revealing her breasts, and he takes a few moments just to worship them, touching, suckling, grazing his teeth over them so that she moans softly. He looks up and sees her eyes closed tight, her head pressed back into the arm of the couch. Grinning, he bends to his task again.

She's hot and damp inside the panties, and the slickness of her on his fingertips is exciting, takes his breath away. She's so responsive, enjoying everything; he's reminded briefly of Britney and how he could never seem to please her.

Her hands slide into his hair, tangling in his curls, tugging gently. He shoves aside the thoughts and focuses again. Hooks his thumbs in the straps of her panties and pulls them down. When he lays over her again, they're both naked to each other, save a strip of skin above her breasts where her nightshirt's gathered, and her arms, which are still covered by the robe. Bare skin meets bare skin; they both gasp in synchronous enjoyment of the sensation.

"Hey," a voice calls out, scratchy and sleepy, from one of the rooms. Justin looks up over the couch, blinking, to see a yawning Joey in the door. "Somethin' going on?" Joe asks.

"Yeah," Justin says. "Go away."

"Huh?" Then Joey must see something that clues him in -- flung-away clothes, or maybe Kristen's dark hair over the arm of the couch -- because he grins in understanding. "Gotcha." The door closes again; Justin hears giggling on the other side.

Justin chuckles, and so does Kristen, her arms going around him and hugging him close. His erection nudges at her thigh, hot and insistent. "I could have invited him," Justin says suddenly, thinking of the other time, thinking suddenly that maybe she'd be more comfortable with Joey there.

"Nah, that's okay." She puts a hand on the back of his neck, looking into his eyes searching for a moment. Justin doesn't know what she's looking for, but he looks back at her, and then she draws him down and kisses him again. This time is different, somehow. Deeper, richer, more intense.

God, he wants to slide into her right there. But he restrains himself, gets up, saying "one minute" when she begins to protest. Stiff cock bobbing, he darts into his room and gets a condom, rolling it on as he returns. She's leaning up on her arms, smiling at him. As he leans back down over her, she runs a finger down the length of his dick, which obligingly twitches.

Sinking into her, so familiar and new all at once. She's all his now, he thinks, his own private Kristen. He's wanted this, wanted her, for so long that being with her now is almost more than he can take. He fights for control, forcing himself to stay calm.

But, "oh, God, Just," she whispers, breathy and hoarse and excited. "oh, God, yeah, Jesus, that's good, oh Christ, I can feel your cock, it's good, yeah," and he didn't realize it would be like this, it's more than he can take. He feels it happen before he realizes; the orgasm whacks him in the back of the head, with the force of a jackhammer, and his head goes spinning out into outer space for what feels like several minutes straight.

When he comes back, she's panting and moaning underneath him, her hand between them on her clit, and he presses his face to her shoulder as she comes, breathy and sweet. For a moment they stay like that, joined still, breathing shallowly in tandem. Then Justin slips out of her, reluctant, and curls to his side to gather her in his arms.

He nuzzles her neck with soft lips, making her giggle. "Thanks," he murmurs against her skin.

"What? What for?" she asks.

"For, you know. For that."

"Oh, come on, Just--"

"No, I mean it. I'm serious."

"Okay," she says quietly. "But. Thank you, too."

"Um." Confusion. "All right."

She shivers a little. "Anyone in your room?"

"Nope."

"Why don't we go in there and get under the covers?"

"All right."

He gathers his clothes up as he follows her into his room, realizing belatedly that he still has the bandanna on. She gives him a smile over her shoulder, and he feels warm all over.


End file.
